Noxian Brutality: Origins
by Imagination 5
Summary: The lives and stories of a great and terrible nation are laid bare, as pain, suffering, and far reaching conspiracies stretch and weave into the present day.


"You know, Kat." A girl dangled her legs off a low wall, examining an all too perfect porcelain doll, twirling it in pale, slender fingers as a light breeze toyed with her blond, expertly brushed hair. "You should really stop staring at daddy when he's practicing his sword strokes. It's not very feminine, you know."

The girl's voice was sweet, wavering up and down in pitch; a voice in the middle of changing into its adult form. But despite the sweetness, there was a cold, harsh edge to those with even the slightest perception. Every movement, every word, every piece of movement, speech, and inclination right down to tone and pitch was carefully practised to make her words seem as influential as possible.

"Hmph." A derisory sound was the response of the taller girl, now more a woman at sixteen years old. Her body had developed, and so had her mind. No longer content to simply sit within the lap of Noxian luxury given to them by being the family of a general and a trusted confidant of Grand General Boram Darkwill, Katarina Du Couteau had become restless lately.

Perhaps she wanted to be able to do more. After all, with the Rune Wars over for ten years now, her father's blade was slick only with the blood of lowlives and thieves. She knew her father. They were cut from the same cloth, even though she was so much younger, and had never tasted the adrenaline surge of combat. She knew it. She could feel that restlessness, and knew what it meant. She felt more at home watching her father and the other soldiers in mock combat than she did playing with dolls, and donning dresses with frills and lace as her sister did.

"Katarina." A deep voice startled her from her train of thought, and she looked up to see her father staring down at her. Dressed in the glorious red, black and gold outfit that befitted a decorated general, he stood in a dignified position, hands clasped. He was a tall man, at six foot three, with a trimmed moustache and a finely cut short hairstyle.

"Yes father?" The Du Couteau children were free to do as they liked, but respect to their father overrode that liberty. He had never had to so much as raise a hand to convey this message. His very presence commanded authority and respect. Even Cassiopeia knew as much.

"I can't help but notice you have been watching myself and the other soldiers at work for some time now." An eyebrow rose. Whether it was in approval, disapproval, or simple curiosity, she couldn't tell. "Do you have anything you would like to tell me."

"No, father." She made an effort to sit up straighter in his presence. "I just find it interesting, is all. It's like…like a dance of blades." She felt her cheeks grow red as she tried to form words to describe how she felt watching the sword fighting.

To her surprise, her father chuckled, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword and drawing it. The weapon; too thick to be considered a rapier but too thin to be a broadsword, seemed to be almost tailor made for her father. The hilt was decorated with the emblem of Noxus; a crow taking flight. "Stand up," he said firmly, and she at once obeyed, standing as straight as possible. Her father held the sword at an angle, eyes squinting as he stared at her as if measuring her up.

"As expected."

Katarina felt her heart thumping as she awaited her father's judgment. "What is it, father?" she asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"You do not have the form to wield a sword. Not even a rapier." Her father frowned, though he did not seem disappointed, merely focussed.

At his words, Katarina felt her heart fall. As the color faded from her cheeks and she lowered her head, she murmured. "Alright. I'll go back to my room then."

"Not yet." Her father glanced down at her sternly. "I haven't dismissed you yet." Looking away from his eldest daughter, he snapped his fingers at a nearby maidservant Katarina had not noticed loitering about, and she approached, dressed in a black shirt and knee length dress. In both white gloved hands she held a single, large box. Made of dark mahogany and encrusted with rubies, a single silver clasp rested at the centre.

General Du Couteau took the box, and with a deep bow, the maidservant withdrew into the manor. As Katarina watched, her father snapped the clasp open, and the lid lifted back.

"These are for you." General Du Couteau held the box out to his eldest daughter as she gasped, taking it. Within the box, resting on a pouch of red velvet, were two fine blades. Daggers. Each hilt was engraved with the emblem of Noxus, and the blades themselves were curved ever so slightly, just enough that they could be compared with sickles. Serrated grooves worked their way through even the curves near the tip. Blades like these would tear through flesh and rip chunks free as if their victims were butchered animals primed for a feast.

Katarina was in awe at these gifts, and she laid the box on the ledge Cassiopeia was sitting on. Her sister looked on curiously as Katarina withdrew the daggers, still playing with her doll's artificial black hair.

The weight was perfect. A little heavier than she had anticipated, but just light enough for her to wield them comfortably. Turning the blades at several angles, she was still too dumbstruck to speak, though she finally managed to churn out a "Thank you, father."

Nodding to acknowledge her gratitude, General Du Couteau motioned at a smaller straw dummy with his sword arm. "You'd best practise. Wild swings will be good for now but a true knife user needs to know how to toss the blades. A sword has reach while a dagger does not. Using them as projectiles is the only way to rectify this. We'll see about getting you some formal training."

"Yes father!" responded Katarina. The excitement shone through in her voice as she dashed over to the signalled practice dummy and began slicing at it. She wasn't unfit by any means but within only a few minutes her arms were screaming with pain and sweat was dripping from her face and arms. She didn't care. She had never felt more alive. Every muscle movement, every twinge of pain, every clump of straw and mulch that was ripped soundlessly from the makeshift human shape was ecstasy to her. It truly was the dance of blades.

General Du Couteau watched his eldest daughter with approval. Her strokes were unrefined, but her fire was obvious. She would make for a fine solider. Perhaps even a fine assassin.

Even as he thought this, however, a sigh drew attention to his youngest; Cassiopeia. She too was watching her sister, but not with pride. It was envy that darkened her expression. "Daddy?" she spoke as she noticed his eyes were on her. "Kat is good with the blade. You're good with the sword. What about me?"

Marcus couldn't help but laugh, drawing a pout from his youngest daughter. "You are only fourteen years old, my dear Cassiopeia. That is no time to be thinking of what you will use to kill. We will wait a few years, and then find out what you will be useful for. But I think I already know. After all, words can be a powerful blade in their own right."

Cassiopeia blinked and looked up, meeting her father's gaze. "Really? What is it I'll be doing?"

"Ah ah ah." The general rustled his daughter's hair playfully. "That's a secret."

Cassiopeia pouted again, but this time it was less out of annoyance and more for show. Placated, she returned to her dolls as General Du Couteau returned to the house. He had barely reached the entryway when a private ran up to him, saluting clumsily. Usually the sign would have received a reprimand from the general, but judging by his gait, this was an important event that waived the need for such things.

"Sir!" gasped the private, clearly struggling for breath. "One of the gutter rats…Kavyn! He's dead, sir. His corpse was found in the sewers, sector G."

"Your point?" Gutter rats died all the time. Starvation, dehydration, malady. Kavyn, however. He had been the son of a pair of nobles. Nobles who had been found guilty of selling military secrets to Demacian officials. They had been exeuted, naturally, but the boy had been released onto the streets to make his own way or to die, as was the way of Noxus. It seemed that, not even a year later, the boy had succumbed to the latter.

"Sir, he had been stabbed once in the throat. He died instantly. His body was dropped within the sewers. It clogged the system."

Now Du Couteau was intrigued. One stab, and a relatively safe hiding spot for a body, only discovered by chance. Not skills a gutter rat often had. They were the skills of an assassin, a soldier, a serial killer. And that meant they had a trained killer, or somebody with a lot of natural talent for the art of death within their city. At best, they could use it. At worst, it was to be eliminated.

"Cordon off Sewers, Sector G, and the Slums, sectors D through J. I want every entry and exit guarded. We'd best look for someone with blood on his hands. Even if it's too late, we may be able to capture the killer." The general walked towards the gate himself, and the private, left behind, saluted once again and ran off ahead.

It seemed that more than one fine fighter had been brought to the attention of House Du Couteau today.


End file.
